Craig, a Concept
by Cosmomos
Summary: (ON HIATUS) Tweek was notorious for imagining crazy things. Craig was by far the craziest.
1. The Intruder

**A/N: Schizophrenia will be the main theme explored throughout this story. I don't have schizophrenia myself nor do I know anyone else who does. Tweek's experience is based solely on a lot of research, so keep in mind not all sufferers will experience it this way. If anything, this is a very diluted depiction of schizophrenia.**

 **Disclaimer** **: I do not own South Park or the cover image.**

 **Rated T: for violence, strong language, a lot of angst and once again, nothing South Park fans aren't used to. Rating may change to M later for romantic scenes.**

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 **Chapter track:** dandelion hands - lonely

 _Craig, a Concept_

 **One**

The Intruder

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Another impressive blow collides with my cheek. My body; my face is bruised and sore and I don't know how much more I can take of this but still, I am impressed. What strange person can admire such callous violence against himself? Me, of course. Mostly because I'd been expecting this sooner or later. You see, it's a pitiful ritual these boys perform at least weekly.

It made it easier to pretend that I liked pain. I deserve it after all; being the sharp thorn in a bed full of roses… What else is one to expect?

 _That's the right idea, Tweek. You deserve it!_

"Get up you spastic."

Why does this happen to me? I'm no mother Theresa but it never crossed my mind that I should be beaten for... Being me? These days I didn't even know what being me meant. I've been told I'm pretty irrational. Tweek Tweak is a nutcase, lost in his head they say.

I'm renowned for creating make believe things… My therapist said it was because I was too emotionally weak to deal with the kind of problems most regular people deal with so I'd create certain personalities or figures to blame things on so that I could keep Tweek clean and free of remorse and sadness. I never quite believed her on that but the whole problem solving thing made sense, I'd usually have a nervous breakdown if I smashed a coffee mug or couldn't find something, it would always feel like the end of the world to me where other people could go about just cleaning things up or leaving them be. I didn't understand that.

Moments like these.

"He's not moving" one of the boys above me said. I couldn't quite make out their faces from down here, my body felt too numb to move.

"I told you to get up!" The boy from before seethed but I didn't make any notion to move. I felt like the safest place would be on the ground coiled up into a ball where I couldn't see my attackers. That was wrongly assumed.

Out of nowhere I felt a hand grab my tousled blonde hair and yank it upwards so that my head had no choice but to rise up with the said hand. I screamed when I felt the burning across my scalp and waved my hands around in a futile attempt to break free.

A face greeted my own now. His name was Charlie Ross. He had brown hair and was blind in one eye which is how most people identified him in conversation. He probably felt inferior with that disadvantage so picking on people like me who are arguably in a worse state made him feel powerful, like he wasn't blind. I understood that I just didn't want to be his outlet of emotions, I already had my own to deal with.

 _He knows about you._

Charlie muttered for one of the others to hold my head up and I didn't have enough time to wonder why until I felt a hard boot smash into my chin. The pain was instant and my face fell to the floor in a second as they let go. My jaw felt shattered from each end and my eyes were scorching. I wailed on the ground, desperately caressing my injury and then the tears finally came, running down my freshly bruised cheeks. I couldn't hold them in after that and I found myself choking on each inhale.

Charlie and his two other friends stood up, folded their arms and admired their work. I caught him almost smile from above me, a monster with a frightening snarl and sharp claws. He would have noticed me stare had he got any function in his milky left eye.

They left without a word, like nothing had happened and proceeded to walk towards the school bus which was most likely leaving quite soon.

I came to the conclusion that they wanted me to cry, because now that I had tears running like tributaries to a river down my face, they'd left, satisfied.

I decided that getting up and attempting to run to the school bus right now was pointless. I didn't want to face Charlie and his friends anymore today, I didn't want to face the world. I lay here against the grass, staring up at the sky and watching the clouds slowly drift across the face of blue. Blue sadness and isolation.

My fingers were twitching though my chest now felt empty. My whole face was throbbing and yet I didn't want to move from this spot and go and get help. Usually I'd be so eager to get home from school so I could be alone. My parents work at their coffee shop until six o'clock so I had a few hours after school to do as I pleased in solitude.

I reached up and touched my jaw. It felt heavy on my face and excruciatingly painful as I tried to move it or open my mouth, there was no doubt in my mind that half my face would be purple and green in it's bruising stage. Usually Charlie doesn't hurt me past my shoulders because there would be visible evidence that someone had attacked me all over my face. But in the same breath, Charlie liked his work to be seen and acknowledged which is why when he does mangle my face, he makes sure that he really goes for it. This is why he picked Friday after school, he won't have to worry about me telling on him for the whole of the weekend. Not like it would make much difference if I did because no one believed me, I've been known in the past to be the kid that injures himself and blames it on anything _but_ himself. They'd think I was lying, trying to pass my infectious habit of fibbing onto an innocent boy like Charlie Ross.

Blind privilege.

In some sick and twisted way, being beaten up is something I can handle and even look forward to at times. It makes me feel something other than insanity. It makes me feel real, distracts me from the pain I feel inside myself. In that respect I can understand why people self-mutilate, cut their skin like it were a smooth rump of meat. They just want to feel something different.

I'd been laying here on the damp ground behind the main school building for a long time now and I'd already seen the sun creep its way halfway across the sky and the clouds I'd been watching had danced behind me along with the warm summer breeze. Colorado was always snowing but recently we'd had a heat wave and though the ground was still wet and cold, nothing in South Park had ever looked this bright and green before. Green was my favourite colour.

Eventually I decided to sit up despite the aching it caused to check my phone. It was 3:46pm and I'd been sprawled out helplessly across the clovers for over an hour now. Today I just didn't know what to do or where to go. In all honesty I was just about ready to disappear.

When I'm thinking rationally, I'd run home and try my best to clean myself up, cover up the newly formed bulges and bruises across my face until my parents get back home then I'd proceed to lay low out of their sights for the weekend. If they saw the marks across my skin they'd be mortified; not because of Charlie and his gang but because their first assumption would be that I harmed myself. They would be ashamed of me.

Today I did not feel rational, I wanted to walk.

So after gathering my belongings that had been scattered across the floor, I shoved everything in careless crevices of my messenger bag and got to my feet. I wobbled a little, flaying my arms in the air to keep my balance as I brushed the vegetation from my clothes and out of my mane.

My whole body felt weak when I moved even an inch, my ribs were convulsing inwards on me from the good portion of feet that had bashed into them and my jaw was considerably worse. I could feel mounds forming all over my body and told myself silently that I'd be okay, I could make it somewhere quiet.

The school bus had long gone and I found myself drifting past clubs and extracurricular activities that I never found much interest, nor confidence to join. Friends held hands and laughed together, they looked so happy. I sometimes wondered what friends would be like, _real_ friends. Most of the time I could satisfy myself with childish mirages I'd made up in my head, my brain could generate such interesting people sometimes and now and then even other worldly beings for me to interact with and quench my thirst for companionship but so many people who knew about this had told me it was wrong and I had to grow up, get real friends. I never knew what to think of that because I was always pretty content being alone, I thrived off the silence. I just didn't like being lonely. It's not an easy thing to explain.

No one noticed me anyway. In this school I'm practically invisible until someone needs a punchbag or a fool to lock inside their stocks of humiliation. It was almost a blessing in disguise but still I felt so vulnerable… One wrong move, one episode of twitching or talking to myself openly would mean one more bully on my back, one more person to push me under their own problems.

At least I was good for something.

Walking out of school grounds and strolling through the town melted my anxieties pretty quickly. To me, school wasn't a building of education or a place to make relationships and let your skills flourish. It was an institution, a claustrophobic maniac's worst nightmare where failure was constantly thrown at you and people with conflicting problems mingled amongst each other, feeding off one another's insecurities. High school is the epitome of my fear and the breeding ground of my anxiety. _Everyone_ is out to get you in high school.

So needless to say, I felt a lot more comforted out of the building's sight as I made my way into the much smaller, suburban part of South Park, the part where "quiet little mountain town" was a phrase once commonly used to describe us. I loved my little town, especially this area where my childhood smelt like coffee and pine trees and I felt safe from those monsters like Charlie Ross, the enemy.

"Home is where my heart is" I spoke aloud to no one in particular but nevertheless still received a reply.

 _Home is where the coffee is._

I chuckled under my breath "yes, that's true."

I soon approached an area where I'd been before, in fact, I was a regular visitor. Some months ago I discovered something along the outskirts of Stark's pond. I was running pretty fast that evening, stumbling across twig and twine as I found myself deeper and deeper into the dark forest. The pine trees felt like intimidating black towers that loomed over me. I'd been crying excessively from a moment I don't remember anymore, whatever happened had been pushed deep into my mind where no one could trigger it.

Through the eerie branches I came to a halt when something shiny had caught my eye. A play park, an old children's play park that had been neglected and forgotten, buried in snow and sheltered by the trees. More interestingly, I remembered this play park from when I was a child. I recalled the injuries I'd collected from falling from the monkey bars, the creaky swing set and the rusty merry go round amongst my favourite of all which was the tree house.

The tree house wasn't large, you could fit four children at the most in there and it had a basic design. Some parts of it were rotting and weak, so much so that nowadays it took guts for me to climb the ladder and sit inside without caution but I felt safer in a rickety old tree house that could collapse at any moment than I did down on the ground where everyone else was.

Some time during my adolescence, a new and improved park had been built much closer to the elementary school and the surrounding neighbourhoods. It had more equipment which was exciting and colourful, it was safer for the children and more convenient for the parents. Somewhere around that time this play park had been forgotten about and the only inhabitants here now were weeds and the odd display of graffiti. This play park was all mine now, it was Tweek territory and I'm so glad that it appeared when I needed it, somewhere to sit and ponder, somewhere to feel guarded and relaxed.

I decided the play park is where I will reside for the rest of the afternoon. As long as I'm home at six, my parents won't freak out. Until then they're oblivious to what I do, and I could do anything.

Walking down the winding path of the forest is like committing a crime to me; it's exciting. The reason for this is that no one knows where I am or where I'm going, no one knows about my little slither of tranquillity in this world and that's how it should stay, that's how I like it. I'm not one to keep secrets but no one asks, so I don't tell. An amateur could get lost in this maze of pine needles but not me, I've been down this route a hundred times now and I know exactly where I'm going. Only an expert would be able to identify the old path after years of neglect, only an expert would know the quickest way to burrow into these woods and then exit. Today I'm the expert and I'm not alone.

Company is all around me in every leaf and gust of wind it beckons me in the right direction, makes me smile.

 _Thank goodness this day is over._

And I agree, I'm glad the torturing stress of school has come to a close for the week.

My heart was swelling the closer I got to my destination and when it was finally in sight, I let out a long sigh of relief and felt my chest empty itself of negativity. Like I'd been holding it in all day.

Here, stood proud like an old veteran of the war, I treated this sanctuary with respect and floated across the soil. I didn't tread roughly over it. This ground was so fragile, I liked to maintain the old and rustic look of this place. Every piece of oak and metal was draped in moss, lush and dark green blankets of moss. There were colourful and fascinating mushrooms that surrounded this area too, I truly did love it here. Places where humans aren't around are the most vibrant of places, like out of an enchanted children's story.

I weaved through the wooden structures, grazing my fingertips along each groove and edge of the bark. I hadn't been here for two days actually and I'd forgotten how much I'd missed this place in such a short time. I only missed it because I was so content here.

However, my muscles ached far too much to indulge in any childlike antics on the rotting slide or the fungi-infested merry go round. I had a heavy book in my bag that I wanted to lose myself in; this book is another thing that brought me comfort and I'd been looking forward to reading it high up in the trees without a soul around to see or hear. My eyes glanced up at my desirable resting place and I smiled to myself widely, climbing the tree to the fort was one of my favourite things to do.

Skipping towards the large and strongest tree of the clearing, I hoisted myself up each plank of wood that had been nailed to the trunk, counting each one as I went and being cautious as not to look down or miss a step. No matter how excited I was for something, some internalised fear would bubble up in my throat and catch me off guard when doing risky things such as climbing unsturdy ladders. That was a common phobia I suppose, being afraid of heights. But the reward for pushing myself, being able to see clear across the water of Stark's Pond over into the colourful dotty town of South Park and then to the evergreen mountains that touched the sky. It was a beautiful sight.

I could begin to see the view from over the trees as I looked to how high I was now. I inhaled the fresh, mountain air serenely and closed my eyes. Everything was twice as beautiful with my eyes closed. My imagination was my most prominent feature and there was nothing more fueling to my blissful mirage than a breath of pure, alpine oxygen.

I smiled softly to myself as I opened my eyes again. Nothing could fuck up the feng shui here.

I shouldn't speak too soon.

As I hauled myself safely through the entrance of the treehouse and rolled across the oak, my eyes adjusted in the dimly lit hut and a figure sprawled on the floorboards was covered in a sheet, a white sheet.

My breath hitched in my throat and I instinctively pushed myself against the wall in fear, wincing when I heard the wooden panels creek under the pressure of my back.

A body? A dead body?! This figure seemed so lifeless; my mind that had taken so long to calm down was now thrown into the deep dark pits of hell as I began questioning the worst and most ugly possible outcomes of this entity before me. In _my_ tree house.

 _It's a dead body. It's a dead body._

"Oh Jesus Christ!" I yelped and realised that my own body was gyrating, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped I wasn't going to break out into a fit, not here where I was alone and high above all else. Well, I wasn't alone. Whoever it was in front of me was currently causing me a panic attack.

I audaciously reached my leg out and poked the person with my foot, snatching it away as soon as it came into contact with the sheet. What followed was some movement. Whoever was under the sheet groaned and turned on its side. I didn't know whether to feel relieved and safer than I did before or even more terrified. What if this person was a murderer?

A serial killer?

An alien?!

"GAH!" I screeched involuntarily and the sudden noise caused another groan.

Whoever it was, they were clearly asleep and I knew that no one could slice my throat and harvest my innards if they were unconscious. Unless you were some sort of an expert psychopath…

 _No Tweek, focus. Unveil them._

Right.

I rubbed my hands together and sucked in a sharp breath, trying my best to appease my nerves. My therapist had recited to me over and over again that I should count upwards in my head, each number after each inhale and exhale so I tried my luck at that but my breathing was still hoarse with fear. I should jump out of this murder box right now and run back home, I should abandon this place quickly before it got dark… Before this creature woke up.

"I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength" I whispered fearfully to myself, clutching my quavering fingers to my chest and praying for the strength to lean forward and reveal this… Enemy.

"I can do everything" I gradually shuffled closer to the figure and reached out one unsteady hand. "Through Christ who…" my hand ghosted gingerly over the face of the body "gives me…" I understood that in a second there would be no easy way to reveal this criminal or extra-terrestrial beneath the cloth, I could be surprised or mortified or both. Either way, I knew I'd be scared no matter the outcome because this wasn't a Scooby Doo episode and I didn't know this person. This was a stranger, snoozing in _my_ treehouse, in _my_ playpark, in _my_ happy place and peace of mind. This intruder was my disturbance of the day. I had to rip the bandaid off.

"Strength."

Discreetly, I whipped the fabric off the face and dithered to facing what lay beneath. What kind of person would be sleeping in a desolate playpark after all?

A fugitive maybe?

A peadophile?

A prisoner from guantanamo bay?

A man in black?!

Oh fuck oh Jesus. What if the helicopters were looking for them right now? Flying above me as we speak. What if they kill me!?

It took the entirety of my balls to peel my eyelids open and face this mysterious organism sleeping peacefully before me.

I was… Surprised.

There was a boy around my age with his brows knitted in frustration as he slept- probably because I'd disturbed him with my outbursts. He had paper-white skin and chapped lips, of course I couldn't tell what colour eyes he had but I was betting that he harboured a deep brown hue.

As for his hair, it was jet black and messy, a little on the greasy side. His skin was so clear of blemishes, I couldn't tell if he were naturally pale or incredibly sick. The only things protruding from his face were a few piercings. One on his nostril and two on his bottom lip.

He looked so much like a ghost that the thought seriously crossed my mind, I could be facing the dead right now… Or maybe I am dead myself? I pinched my arm and pat my chest nervously to try and somehow prove I wasn't a ghost. I then began to suspect that I was one of those gifted individuals that can see ghosts, that would explain so much-

"Who the fuck are you" a groggy deep voice pulled me out of my conspiracies and I jumped in shock, once again pinning myself to the edge of the hut, my eyes became bulbous as I watched the boy sit up and run a large hand through his hair. He was wearing a white tank top that looked considerably dirty and a pair of black fingerless gloves on his hands. I also realised that his eyes were blue, not brown. Behind the blatant look of terror I had painted across my face, I was intrigued by who he was and why he was here. If I didn't get some kind of explanation soon I felt like this playpark would become my burial ground by the way he was glaring at me.

"W-who are you?" I echoed and he cocked an eyebrow in the air, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He didn't answer. He reached for a blue hat that I recognised as a Peruvian style and I eyed the yellow bobble on top. I wanted to touch it.

"What time is it?" He asked me. I swallowed a lump in my throat and realised I wouldn't be able to answer him coherently so I held out my shaking hand for him to look at my watch, which he did although it seemed he was more transfixed on my twitching as opposed to the requested time.

"You alright there buddy?" He queried and I couldn't help but feel somewhat patronised. ' _Buddy.'_ This was _my_ treehouse and a rather pungent man was sleeping in it soundly like it belonged to him.

"Y-you…" I began, my vocabulary failing me.

"Huh?"

"You're in my t-tree house you know."

He widened his eyes at me and scoffed, shaking his head. "Oh, this is _your_ treehouse?" he mimicked "is this your woodland too? Your town, your goddamn country? Well I'm sorry, are you king of the fucking forest?" His tone unsettled me. He seemed incredibly angry and was directing it at me. Not that I wasn't used to that kind of interaction, I just hadn't pictured a scenario like this before.

"I um… I just, GAH! Haven't seen you before…" I tittered. Once again, he avoided the topic of conversation and proceeded to make out as if he was some sort of Tarzan and had lived in the canopies his whole life.

"You twitch a lot" he pointed out "do you have tics?"

"N-no."

"Who are you anyway? What kind of guy creeps up on a sleeping teenager in the middle of the woods reciting bible verses?"

Oh so he heard that. I guess I did come across as pretty creepy…

"I'm not a p-pervert or anything" I stammered. Why would I say that? I feel nervous, now this makes me look even more so like a sexual predator despite this boy looks taller, and stronger than me. He could rip me in half. He seemed amused by my statement nonetheless.

"Okay…"

"I-I'm Tweek Tweak. This GAH! Is uh, not _my_ treehouse specifically but I always come here and no one is ever h-here so I um, I just… Who are you again? Sorry" I felt myself tugging on my hair anxiously and the way he was staring at me made me feel even more vulnerable. I wanted to curl up and die, I wanted this tree house to fall apart and bury me in the dirt twenty feet below.

"You don't need to know, kid, I'm not gonna be here for long" he told me in a low voice. I don't know where he got off calling me "kid" when we were more or less the same age. Probably because I'm small and callow looking. That would make sense.

He pulled out something from a backpack which seemed to be the only clean item he had on him and I made out that he was placing a long cylinder between his lips, a cigarette which he then lit with a red lighter that said "fuck you" in bold yellow letters.

"Why's that?" I questioned finally, fully aware I'd be bathing in smoke in a few moments which I never appreciated.

He laughed again. "You're so interrogating, Tweek. What kind of name is that anyway?"

I hesitated to answer that, for I did know the answer but I was already coming across as sketchy and I didn't want to make that any worse. But I can't help but feel a little offended now. He was being so hostile to me and I hadn't been extremely rude to him, nor had I gone out of my way to aggravate him. Considering he was squatting in my fort and being incredibly secretive about who he was, I was being quite patient. The fact he was being so dubious wasn't helping my theories about him being a number of scary culprits…

The thick tendrils of smoke began to fill the tree house and coil inside my nose. So much for thriving in the fresh mountain air… I concluded that I was upset and I wanted to go home. My treehouse had been stolen, my happy place raided and I doubt I'd be able to come here again, even if the boy in the blue chullo hat stays true to his word and ends up leaving, I'd be too scared to come back here. It doesn't feel the same now.

I was wrong. This fucked up the feng shui.

As I awkwardly pivoted to leave and scurry down the ladder, the boy stopped me by calling out my name. It sounded odd hearing my name from a stranger's mouth but regardless, I stopped and gazed at him expectantly, perhaps hoping that he'd apologise or tell me he'd leave right away.

"Do you have any food?" He asked much to my dismay. He was hungry. I could tell by the way he'd been sucking and biting on his cigarette as if he could gain nutrients from it. I hadn't smoked before so I assumed that was the correct way to do so at first.

I sat back down and quietly rummaged through my bag and luckily for my new acquaintance I pulled out my lunchbox and inside were some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and an apple. I hadn't been hungry at lunch; anxiety often leads to a loss of appetite.

He looked at the food like a wild animal, like a castaway who hadn't set eyes on fresh water for days. He then looked at me with bright eyes, tilting his head as if to ask if he was allowed to eat it. I nod my head sheepishly and passed him the box and his twitching fingers wasted no time in ripping the lid off and helping themselves to the contents inside.

I watched him awkwardly, shuffling my hands in my lap and glancing out of the window, wondering how I'd sleep tonight and gradually becoming restless because I didn't know this boy's name or… Well, anything about him though here I was feeding him as if I were the South Park soup kitchen.

Speaking of soup kitchens, after examining him closer the thought crossed my mind that he could be homeless. Why else would someone be so grubby and hiding out in an abandoned treehouse? If that was the case I felt bad for him, sleeping all alone in the frosty woods wrapped in nothing but a thin white sheet. I wanted to help him more than this if that was the case, him being homeless I mean. I wished I had more food for him.

"D-do you want some coffee?" I offered.

"Please" he said in between a mouthful. I presented the flask to him and clutched my knees to my chest as I watched him indulge in the food and screw the top of the flask off.

His face contorted as the liquid traveled down his throat and it looked like he had some trouble swallowing it.

"It's cold" he told me.

"A-ah, sorry about that…" I stuttered in response, feeling a little guilty.

"And it's black."

"Well yeah I… I like strong coffee."

He looked at me, somewhat surprised by my statement but his expression seemed admirable, as if drinking black coffee was something to be proud of.

"Well, beggers can't be choosers" he muttered and moved onto his apple whilst chugging the coffee despite he clearly wasn't all that fond of it.

When he was done, he passed me the empty containers and gave me a forced, though polite, smile. "Thanks" he said quietly and I took a moment to note that he came across much more amiable now that he'd eaten. Perhaps hunger was making him grouchy.

 _His name._

"I uh… Can you really not tell me your name?" I probed. He glared at me in annoyance, I could feel his eyes burning through me and warning me to stop asking him questions but curiosity had the better of me. I couldn't help myself. I could tell that he was conflicted, especially after I'd fed him I think he felt like he owed me at least a name.

"Craig" he told me finally "my name is Craig." He stretched his arms out and leant against his backpack, gazing at me and looking me over. I felt his eyes explore and examine my body like I were a display at a museum. He didn't seem intrigued the way I was about him but a lot of people stare at me because I'm a disarray. I twitch and blink rapidly and my clothes are covered in creases, my buttons are in all the wrong holes and my hair looks electrified. So I didn't exactly feel strange as he eyed me.

"Is there a surname with that…?" I wondered. Introducing yourself by just your given name was a little fragmentary. It made his character seem even more inconspicuous to me.

"It's just Craig to you, okay?" He seemed irritated again.

I didn't know what to do now. I felt awkward and didn't know what to say. I could tell he didn't want me here now that I had no purpose to serve but I also didn't want him here myself. I came up here to be alone and instead I'm greeted by a rather hostile intruder who only has one name and smells like a chimney.

My hands wrestled with each other in my lap and my thoughts felt restless in my skull. I just felt so out of place here and knew that going home would be the best idea but for some reason unbeknownst to me I couldn't tear myself away from this scene. I felt like if I did so I'd be admitting defeat and surrendering my little Colorado paradise to Craig. Also, some part of me was still incredibly curious, if not slightly terrified too.

"Why are you up here?" His voice broke through the silence and I felt my chest heat up once again.

"I-I come up here a lot, I told you" I answered.

"Yes but to do what? Are you searching for sleeping boys?" He chided sarcastically. He has little concept of manners.

"No! I uh… I read."

"You read?"

"Yes."

"What do you read? I'm not an expert on literature but you seem like a chick-lit teen romance kind of guy."

Okay, now he's just making fun of me.

"That's not funny" I huff.

"It is." He tells me but he's not laughing, he's just silently and emotionally appreciating his own humour.

"If you must know I read the bible up here" my voice was timid. He looked surprised as he sat up a little more, becoming slightly curious.

"The bible?" I can't say I enjoyed the constant echo of what I was saying. I hate my own voice let alone someone repeating it.

"Y-yes, the bible. Is that funny too?" I frowned at him.

"Not at all. There's nothing funny about you Catholic lot" he deadpanned.

'You catholic lot?' His choice of words seemed to imply he wasn't fond of Catholic people, or at least wasn't one himself.

Me and my family were Roman Catholic as was the majority of South Park and although I considered myself more agnostic than anything, reading the bible often brought me comfort on days like this where I felt totally and utterly useless and unwanted.

"I'm guessing you're n-not Catholic or anything" I assumed.

"Nope. Not in a million years."

I feel like I should be offended by his tone of voice, my parents certainly would be but I personally believed that anyone could have their own views on religion and I was pretty open minded. I didn't even know yet if I believed in God or not. There had to be some explanation for invisible figures talking to me all day.

"I um, told you why I'm here so… w-what about you?" I tried my luck at another question and he sighed exasperatedly.

"It doesn't matter. I told you I'm not gonna be here long so you can have your treehouse back. I just need to figure out how to get the fuck out of here to the next town." He explained.

I thought to myself intently. He certainly hadn't revealed a lot about himself but so far he didn't check the boxes for an alien, murderer, peadophile, man in black or fugitive. But I still wasn't so sure about the fugitive thing. He seemed like he was trying to run away and hide from something so the idea of him being a prisoner on the run wasn't so far-fetched. I decided it would be best not to ask that though.

He sighed once again. His deep sapphire eyes looked lost and conflicted, like he wanted to spill an ocean to me but could just about shed a drop.

"Put it this way" he began "I came from somewhere grey and black. Somewhere cold and dark and I can't go back. I'm looking for something brighter, somewhere lighter. Somewhere I belong, I know it. Yeah, I'm an amateur poet."

I nod as I listened to him, 'amateur' was certainly the right way to describe that flop of poetry but I found myself pondering on each word and marvelling at the way he used colours to describe the world around him and his feelings. I liked that. For someone who spends their life in the imagery of their head, a colour was an accurate way to imagine something intense like feelings.

"You ever get that?" He add.

"Yeah" I replied truthfully. I'm always wondering where I really belong. I know it isn't here.

Craig was interesting and truthfully I wanted to know a lot more about him even though he was very private about himself. I saw a potential friendship here, even if it only lasted for the rest of the day, it was something I'd been longing and seemed like it had come into my life the moment I needed it. I was determined to pursue this no matter how much my nerves resisted it.

"Do you uh, want to come to my house?" I asked him nervously and he cocked an eyebrow at me again.

"Your house?" He repeated me.

"Yes, I live in a house."

He thought for a moment. "Why?"

I twiddled my fingertips against each other as I tried to think of an explanation. Of course the simple answer was that I wanted to feed him and give him some sort of fresh outfit but I was never one to make things simple on myself so I stuttered and made awkward noises like a lunatic until my mouth remembered how to form words.

"I um, you can eat and h-have a shower… And coffee too."

"Your shower won't be the same temperature as your coffee will it?" I could tell that was a joke but he said it in such a monotone uninterested way that I had to think about it for a second.

"B-both will be hot!" I exclaimed a little louder than I anticipated.

Craig stared at me for a moment and pursed his lips in thought as he rolled his lip piercings against his teeth. I cringed slightly at the sound of metal against bone and I'm fairly sure he was amused to witness this.

"Okay" he said finally.

 **...**

Craig hasn't been in a heated building for some time, I could tell. When I brought him inside he was awestruck by the furniture, the television, the running water from the taps. It was obvious without asking that he'd been sleeping rough for some time so I could imagine that seeing such simple household objects to me could be magical for him. Not to mention he stuck out like a sore thumb against the clean and colourful furniture whilst he appeared ghostly white and dirty.

I hooked my messenger bag on the coat hangers by the door and kicked my shoes off to which Craig followed before he drifted stiffly around my house, admiring the decor and examining the framed pictures we had over the walls and on top of coffee tables or shelves. I couldn't help but notice he had a disdainful look in his eyes as he browsed our family photos, he seemed angry. But I know him well enough in this short time to know that he has a... resting bitch face let's call it. So it could just be that.

I brewed us some fresh (and hot) coffee and presented him with a large mug. This time I'd taken some of my dad's advice to make a cappuccino and I noted that he liked that better than the black coffee from earlier. Especially since it was heated which I think was Craig's main concern.

"M-my parents are back in an hour and a half so…" How do you tell a guest you want them gone quickly? I felt nervous again all of a sudden, in my own home.

"Don't worry. I won't be meeting them" he assured me flatly "I'd rather you be the only who knows about me."

I don't know why but that almost made me feel special even if it weren't intended that way. Only _I_ get to know about Craig here in South Park, about his colours. That sounds… Acceptable. I had little fantasies playing around in my head already about us being friends. Close friends perhaps, best friends? I'd never had a _best_ friend before. At least not a real one. A friend… All to myself and no one else gets to know about him? Brilliant. It's well known that I appreciate my own stuff.

"Can I shower?" Craig asks me and he doesn't seem sheepish at all, his face is just blank like a clean white canvas.

"Yes, I'll um, show you where everything is" I smiled at him the most assuring smile I could muster and lead him upstairs to where the bathroom was. He continued to observe my house and all the pictures in their frames. My parents were pretty adamant that our home be neat and inviting so there were cool relaxing tones of green across most of the walls and furniture and a few bible quotes framed alongside crucifixes or small wooden crosses. Our house was pretty welcoming and Craig certainly looked that way.

"Your entire house is green" he told me though I'm pretty sure he wasn't just talking about the colour scheme.

I showed him into the bathroom which was also sparkly and clean and explained how the shower works but I could tell he didn't care. Bathrooms are pretty self explanatory, I felt like an idiot for telling Craig how to turn a single switch. My mouth runs off without my head most of the time, I swear. What came as a surprise though, was the way that he cautiously checked the sink, glaring through the plug as I rambled on about the bathroom. This was a habit I'd only ever witnessed in myself.

When he was satisfied with the safety of the plumbing, he began undressing in front of me and I turned away shyly. Naked skin in general, even my own made me feel quite bashful and I didn't expect Craig to be so confident about standing before someone he'd only just met half naked. I did have to turn around and face him eventually as he stood in his underwear asking me a question.

"What should I wear after?"

"Uh… w-well, you can use any towel."

"Um."

"O-oh you mean clothes! GAH!" I felt even more like an idiot, floundering around pathetically in front of my new potential friend. "You can borrow some of mine a-and I'll wash yours, I guess, if that's okay, yes?"

"Yes that's fine. Thank you."

I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. I'd clearly been making a bigger fool of myself. Why do I seem so enthusiastic and paranoid all the time? No wonder I had no real friends. I resisted the urge to slap my forehead, I'd often do that unintentionally if no one is around to see and judge.

"You get so flustered. Is it because I'm naked?" Craig asked me boldly yet still, his expression untainted.

"Jesus Christ, no! I just… I'm a flustery person" I lied. Is flustery even a word? I hate myself. "B-besides you're not even naked. I don't care."

"Is that a challenge?"

What was he getting at exactly? I could feel my cheeks heat up and once again, he seemed pretty amused.

Craig had a gloomy depleted body at the moment. He looked like a flower that was dying, flower that had been picked and left to dry up. His skin was thin and white, he looked a little too skinny and his hunger had eaten away at the faint muscles I saw along his stomach and arms. He was tall and lanky with square features. He would be incredibly handsome after he eats a lot more and bathes, in fact if I were a woman I might say that I'm attracted to him.

I notice something on his thigh that catches my eye. Though faded I can make out a few pink lines etched into the skin. They look pretty dark and sore in comparison to the pale of his leg and I feel sort of uncomfortable when I realise what they are.

At some point Craig obviously notices me staring and frowns in my direction. "What is it?"

"Oh, uh, nothing" I say quietly.

"You were staring at my midsection" he tells me matter-of-factly.

"N-no, not at all! Not like that! I um… Your thighs…"

"What about them?"

"Did you uh… hurt yourself?"

He looks down and examined the flesh as if he's never seen the marks before then looks back at me quite nonchalantly.

"Yes. A long time ago though" he informs me.

"Oh" I reply. I didn't know what else to say, he reacted so casually to it.

"What about you? Did you hurt yourself?" He motions to my face and I touch the tender skin as he points it out. It's swelling pretty bad and I silently curse Charlie Ross for giving my mother another reason to distrust me. I'm surprised Craig mentions the bruises only now if they were that obvious, perhaps that's the sign that he does in fact have manners, or that he doesn't.

"Ah, a lot of people assume I'd d-do this to myself but uh… you know how it is" I look down shamefully at my feet. I don't really want people to know that I get beaten up. It's embarrassing, it's embarrassing how I don't fight back and how I let them violate me in such open air. I let them. But I'd rather people think that than presume that I beat myself up because I'm an utter basket case. Lord knows that has only got me in worse trouble.

Craig nods respectfully. I think he understands what I mean and he can tell I'm not comfortable about the subject so he doesn't ask about it. I appreciate that. It makes me feel guilty for being so oppositely persistent with him and my questions earlier.

"I'll um, get you some clothes a-and do you like lasagna?" I chuckled nervously and he nod. I guessed it was for both.

I gave him some privacy to shower and fetched some clothes for him that I never wear, mostly because they're too big for me like most clothes are. I find myself buying t-shirts from the lady's section or the children's section so most of my clothes either have frilly sleeves or cartoon characters on the front. I didn't mind it that much, some days I could even compliment myself on looking "cute" but I know after seeing Craig shirtless he wouldn't fit into any of that, nor would he want to. Luckily for him I have some t-shirts and sweatpants that are from the men's section and therefore, too large for me.

 _Don't take your eye off him, he's going to kill you._

Yes, he was still pretty unknown. I can't risk leaving him alone for too long. I left a small pile of clothes out for him at the bathroom door and scurried down the stairs into the kitchen, not realising I'd been talking to myself the whole time, listing all of my thoughts and answering my own questions as if I were conducting an interview with myself.

 _You're being awfully kind to this guest._

"He needed help" I say.

 _If he stays, will he spend time with you?_

"I hope so."

I heat up a large slice of mum's leftover beef lasagna for him and sure enough he soon followed the smell like a dog with a powerful nose and sat himself at the counter opposite where I was standing.

Again he gave me that 'is it okay?' look and waited for me to nod in approval before he began eating, enjoying each mouthful. I felt good about this situation, like I'd done something for someone less fortunate than me which I guess is true. I felt like a good Samaritan, feeding and washing Craig.

He was wearing my white t-shirt I'd picked out for him that had the classic 'I want to believe' poster on it and he truly suited it, much better than me anyway. It looks like a night dress when I wear it and frankly the UFO unsettles me. I have to say that he looked rather lovely now that he was all fresh and clean as well, wet hair clinging to his forehead.

"I'm finished" he announces in monotone. That was quick. His face was clearly hinting that he wasn't filled up yet. I don't know how I can tell what he's thinking but all day my instincts have been correct so I don't mind offering him something else.

"Coffee cake?"

He nods enthusiastically, at least the most enthusiastic I've seen him so far and I conclude that in order to bring out some sort of friendly emotion in him, the quickest way to his heart is through his stomach. I repeat the tip quietly to myself when he's not listening as I cut him a slice of cake. Mom always makes delicious cakes for Tweak Bros and there is never a time where there's not any cake or confectionery in the house because of this.

"What's your family's obsession with coffee?" Craig asks me through a mouthful of rich brown cake.

"Well… We own a coffee shop" I explain "coffee has uh, kind of been a Tweak family thing for generations…"

"A cafe?"

"I guess so."

He makes a satisfying "hm" sound as he eats to show he's interested at what I'm saying. I can tell he likes coffee but not as much as me, the Tweak family are known in South Park for being the most avid caffeine-consumers around and I'm no exception to this.

"I do kind of like this town, I'll feel a little sad when I leave" Craig says out of the blue and he's staring ahead at nothing in particular though my wacky brain thought invisible lasers were beaming into the cupboards in front of him at first. My heart sank when I registered what he said. I almost forgot he was to be gone soon, that made me sad.

"T-that's blue" I told him, wondering why he had to jump from place to place.

"Blue must mean something different to you then" he said.

I watched the slice of cake start to disappear on his plate and wondered if this would be the last time someone talks to me without wanting to hurt me or invade my mind. I wondered if this would be the last time I'd have a connection with a stranger or feel this elated that someone is interested in my life. I felt pathetic behind all of this, seeing how desperate I was to cling onto some boy who has bigger dreams than this oppressive town. Was I trying to drag him down with me?

"Do you have to go?" I ask in a little voice that it's almost a whisper. But I know he heard because he stops eating and I twitch vigorously in fear that I've said something weird again.

"I do" he says.

"When?"

"Soon."

I watch the time and the depression settles in knowing that Craig will have to leave within the hour before my parents are home and I'll be alone again. I'll convince myself this were a dream or a vision of some alternate universe.

"W-what about tomorrow? Will you leave tomorrow?" I question him.

"Maybe."

He was so indirect about himself it was hard for my head to wrap around a plan. I'd be stuck on a stutter for years before I could finally ask him something and get a definite answer.

"Can I uh, see you tomorrow?"

"Why would you want to do that?" He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Because…" Crap, I didn't have an answer for that. Truthfully it was because I just wanted to hang out with him but that would have been gawky to say. Then I noticed his discarded clothes by the washing machine.

"Because I will bring you your clothes!" I declared and Craig eyed the grimy garments. I could tell that he didn't care much for them but there was consideration on his face.

"I'll um, bring you food!" I told him and cursed at myself as now I was definitely beginning to look desperate. But Craig didn't care about that, he heard the word 'food' and crooked his head to the side in thought as if he wasn't going to say yes.

"The treehouse?" I implied and he eventually nod in defeat. Perfect.


	2. Thunderstorms

**Chapter track:** Malena Zavala - Should I Try

 _Craig, a Concept_

 **Two**

Thunderstorms

* * *

That Saturday morning I'd been eager to wake up early, perhaps too eager. Without school I had the whole day away from my parents whilst they worked at the coffee shop. I hadn't slept much; I never do. I generally don't fall asleep until early hours of the morning and only salvage three or four hours at best after that.

Still, I'd made sure to set plenty of alarms so I wouldn't miss him… Craig, I mean. I shouldn't be worrying what he does at all in his life, whether he goes or stays but there was apart of me that thought I might have imagined everything that happened yesterday because I was in need of a friend, some company. Imagining stuff like that was a regular occurrence with me and I hated myself for that to be perfectly honest. I had my fingers crossed all morning that he'd been there.

It was a beautiful morning when I'd left the house. The sun was sparkling through the emerald leaves of the forest, everything still fresh and dewy from the night. I wondered if Craig slept well last night, I can't imagine the treehouse being overly comfortable; I wouldn't be surprised if he had a fair few splinters and ants in his pants.

As the golden rays cascaded through the branches of the cedars and oaks, I unveiled my path towards the play park, my little park with my satchel across my shoulder containing Craig's fresh clothes and breakfast and though I was looking forward to clarifying to myself that Craig wasn't fictional and… Well, maybe hanging out. No that's stupid, I need to stop thinking like that. Like he'd actually be _my_ friend.

 _He hates you._

The point was that I was also; arguably _mostly extremely_ anxious about this. Every step through the damp soil and leaves was another burning step towards the nerves in my chest exploding. Of course being Tweek, I've thought of hundreds of possible outcomes and I'm afraid to say that the conspiracy about Craig being a murderer or fugitive was still a possibility to me. This guy is pretty hostile, what if he's spying at me from a tree with a loaded rifle pointed at my head? I checked my body for a red laser spot just to be sure.

I need to stop freaking out. This is why things don't work out for me, this is why I don't succeed. I make big issues out of small ordeals and scare myself away from opportunities and that doesn't help the whole self-loathing thing I have going on. I end up crawling into my bed and feeling worthless when I let my anxieties get the better of me. I'm just such a terror-stricken person. There's way over a hundred phobias that exist in our world, maybe even a thousand and I can guarantee that I'm a victim of ninety-nine percent of them.

When I finally found my way through the sinuous arrangement of trees, logs and shrubbery I was presented with the cosy sight of my park, scintillating in the morning sunshine as if it were under a celestial spotlight. Sometimes this place looks just like a Disney movie. I liked that.

So far there was no sight of my yellow-bobbled acquaintance so I supposed he was still asleep up in the great oak tree. I'd noticed that Craig very much appreciated sleep and he probably slept better up in that cold wooden structure than I did in my large cushioned bed. It was a little past 9:00am and I wasn't too keen in climbing the ladder up to the tree house just quite yet. Truthfully, I was fearful of what I'd find up there. Or more accurately, what I _wouldn't_ find.

Clutching my satchel to my chest as a way to somehow relieve the stone lodged somewhere in there, I found the confidence to call out for him.

"Craig!.." I called, probably a little too quiet. Surely he'd be here knowing I had his possessions in hand. He looked like the kind of guy that currently didn't have much to his name and I was sure that he'd want his clothes back or at least some more food if nothing else. I felt like I was luring a dog out of its hiding with food.

I called his name once again and received no answer. I saw no movement. The clearing was completely still and tranquil, the only noise I could hear were the birds chirping merrily somewhere up in the highest branches. Morning was beautiful. I was lucky that I was usually awake to watch the sun rise over the mountains, casting its balmy glow on the blanket of snow on the horizon with the charming houses of South Park and the untouched surface of Stark's pond. Even from my window it was like living inside a postcard.

I didn't have much choice than to start climbing the risky planks of wood up to the tree house. Craig was obviously a heavy sleeper or he'd moved on/never existed. If I didn't peek in then I'd end up doing that thing again, oh yeah, walking away and pondering my existence. Plus surely I'm just overreacting. I hope.

As soon as the third step made an intimidating squeaking sound my breath got caught in my throat and I closed my eyes in fear I'd fall though it wouldn't be a fatal fall even if I did. The ladder was old and rotting, what was I expecting? But it was wood and held strong for all these years; I'd climbed this same tree plenty of times without failure or accidents which is amazing considering how naturally clumsy and heavy-footed I tend to be. Because of that, I always took extra care to haul myself up this ladder… In many ways my life and sanity depended on it. Though I'm the last person to talk to about sanity.

Incredibly, I'd made my way up the ladder without fault which was another result of unnecessary paranoia I had since I once again got to the top of the tree in one piece.

I poked my head through the entrance and scanned the house for life. There was no one. It was almost as if I'd come down here on any normal day when there weren't homeless people sleeping in my park because there seemed to be no sight of inhabitants, not even his backpack. The only thing laid atop the floor was the off-white sheet I'd first found Craig cocooned in like a corpse. That piece of fabric had given me hope for a moment till I realised that if he was leaving he probably wouldn't want to take it anyway. Who would want to drag around a filthy sheet when they were on the move?

I swallowed a lump in my throat and continued to examine each crevice of the little wooden house but still, he wasn't here and neither was his few belongings. He was gone.

I fucking knew it, I knew he'd leave. I felt foolish for even thinking for a moment that he'd want to see me today and 'hang out' Jesus Christ I must have sounded so lame when I said that. I pounded my fist weakly on the floor as I felt my eyes burn. What if I'd made it all up? This wouldn't be the first time I'd tried to walk back into a fantasy I'd conjured only to realise that in real life I'd been alone because I'm always alone.

 _Everyone leaves you, everyone hates you._

Just before I could feel any more pathetic than I already did, I felt a hot tear fall down my cheek without any permission and had the familiar urge to strike it, I always hit myself when I'm upset. As my hand was about to collide with my cheek a loud and somewhat grouchy calling stopped me from below.

"Hey! What are you doing in my tree house?"

I looked down almost in shock to see two stern blue eyes glaring at me from the ground. Craig. He had his hat on despite the growing heat of the day and my baggy clothes, his arms folded, seemingly unimpressed at my head halfway in the hut.

I quickly wiped my tears and tried to conceal a twitching grin as I began to climb down the ladder to greet him. I was smiling like a fool and I couldn't help it. I know I probably looked ridiculously ecstatic to see him but so many questions I had harassing my brain were now answered with the presence of his face and for that I had a fleeting glimpse of content. Maybe even happiness.

" _Y-your_ tree house?" I quirked my brows at him. He continued to stare at me with a blank expression as if I'd said something painfully obvious.

"Well, I live here at the moment, I think it's fair to say it's mine" he argued.

"Well, uh, yeah but I- you know landlords exist right?" He gazed at me in disbelief of my childishness but decided not to comment as he noticed my hands fight amongst each other under the pressure of breaking the ice here. After all, who the hell is so adamant about claiming a _treehouse_ as their own property? How silly.

"I'm sure we can come to some… negotiation" he told me with a hint of a smirk in the corner of his lips. I'd never seen this expression from him. Come to think of it, I'd probably not seen half of the facial spectrum he possessed but I hoped that in time I would. I swallowed.

I now noticed that Craig had his entire life, his backpack on his shoulders and a light glistening of sweat could be seen on his forehead. It were as if he'd been out walking and I panicked a moment, had I perhaps caught him in the act of leaving? Was he preparing? Was he burying a body?

No, I can't delve into that sadistic rabbit hole again I'd end up having another panic attack. But I was curious.

"W-why aren't you up there?" I pointed to the fort and his eyes followed my finger.

"I went out" he informed.

I wanted to ask where, my curiosity sure was acting up today but it wasn't really any of my business and Craig didn't like interrogation, I knew that. I could keep asking him "who, what, where, when, why and how" to anything and it would just repeat until he eventually got mad and dropped the subject. He was so secretive and I wasn't overly a fan of that but then again, he barely knew anything about me and didn't ask for such information so why should I ask him?

"Have you got any food for me?" He asked.

My head didn't register the request for a moment, I hadn't realise I'd been deep in thought so when he interrupted me I jumped a little, fumbling in my messenger back whilst nervously chuckling, fishing inside for some food.

I kind of wanted to take Craig out for breakfast, I think he'd appreciate that considering how much he eats I could take him to City Wok or another fast food place where they dish a lot for little cash. I couldn't keep bringing him food, my parents would eventually notice their fridge was losing weight.

After far too much time I managed to hook my twitching joints over another food container and presented Craig with some banana bread that once again my mom had made me. It was one of my favourites actually, it was simple but sweet and Craig looked pleased with it too so I guess that's all that mattered.

"Thank you" he said sincerely as he took the box out of my hands and meandered through the park, looking for somewhere to sit in the rising sun. This time as he began eating he didn't give me the "is it okay?" look he simply dug in which was of course okay.

I decided to sit next to him on the log he'd perched on, keeping a cold and awkward distance between us. I just didn't know what to ask him and though pathetic small talk was chanting through my head I couldn't form the words to start a conversation with him.

 _He's bad. He's a bad man._

This was ridiculous.

"You sure you don't have tics?" Craig queried and I couldn't help but feel slightly offended as this was the second time he'd assumed I had _tics._ That was something _children_ get.

"I don't" I growled quietly "I'm just… GAH! Pretty, uh, nervous, like, a lot" curse my illiterate tongue.

"You need to relax" he concluded. Right, as if I hadn't heard that one before. He reached inside the pocket of my oversized sweatpants he was wearing and fished out a pack of cigarettes, popping one out of the top and offering me the cancer stick.

He was giving me a cigarette and I tensed up, I didn't know what to say. I hadn't smoked before and sure I'd been curious to do it when I saw kids smoking behind school but I never believed I'd go through with it. My therapist strongly advises against smoking anything, especially if it was offered to me by someone I don't know but here Craig was, holding out the cylinder to me and I'm sure I made a squeaking sound as I felt beads of sweat collect on my forehead. Is this what peer pressure was? I felt obliged to take one just because he'd offered but the moral side of me wanted to reject. What if he hates me if I decline though?

"Ha… d-did you know I uh, heard cigarettes are made with j-jet fuel" I giggled anxiously and he gave me an amused look before bringing the packet back to his pocket.

"That's funny. Maybe one day I'll be able to fly then" he said with the faintest of smiles on his lips and he lit the end of his cigarette with the favoured 'fuck you' lighter.

"Wait!" I squeaked and practically snatched the packet out of his hands before shakily taking a cigarette out for myself and placing it between my lips. Of course it tasted like nothing yet. Craig's amusement remained as he watched me, my eyes like large moons as I fumbled for the lighter and attempted to light it. When I failed he took it upon himself to light it for me and I watched the tip of the cigarette burn amber.

"Inhale" he instructed me but I gestured for him to be quiet.

"I-I know how to smoke!" I protested with it still between my lips. God, I must've sounded so childish and unconvincing. Of course I knew how to smoke but other people made it look easier than it felt. For some reason I just didn't know what to do with my hands and my mouth now it was between my lips.

I held the stick between my fingers and closed my eyes as I inhaled until the thick, tar-like fumes tickled the back of my throat and I instantly coughed without my own consent, heaving fresh air like it was the breath of life and I could feel my cheeks heat up and my eyes water. Craig watched with one eyebrow raised. He was one of those people who made smoking look like second nature and he casually inhaled the smoke into his lungs, breathing it out in white tendrils as if to show me how it was done.

"It gets easier" he told me. It were almost as if he was encouraging me to get lung cancer.

 _What a pathetic display._

"I know" I mouthed, to both voices.

Trying my luck at a second toke I once again brought the cigarette to my lips and attempted yet another inhale. It sure did sting, I felt like the nicotine was burning all my taste buds but it didn't hurt as much as the first time and by my third inhale I actually found myself releasing some smoke, as disjointed as it was. I may as well finish the thing, I thought.

I hadn't felt my nerves calm at all, in fact they seemed to have gotten worse. Probably because I was getting frantic over the stupid cigarette instead of enjoying it, if it can even be enjoyed like that. I suppose a part of me was expecting that smoking was the quickest cure to anxiety, like an instant relief but I guess that kind of reward was what came with routinely smoking, the kind that makes you feel numb.

My ears focused in on the birds singing high in the canopies and the gentle heaves of Craig's breath as he indulged in his banana bread. I wondered if he felt numb. There certainly had to be some kind of emotional vacancy for him to be able to run away from home and live rough all alone in the woods. Assuming that was the situation at hand.

"Your face is fucked, Tweek" Craig cut through the silence like a blunt knife.

For a moment I thought he was calling me ugly and I patted my face worriedly, my cheeks reddening again. What an awful thing to say. Then I realised, the artwork of Charlie Ross was probably painted thickly on my canvas of a face and still wet at that.

I hadn't looked in the mirror this morning but I could only imagine that the bruising process was beginning and my features would be swollen and magenta like plums. I hated that Craig saw me like this: weak and damaged; the way I saw myself most of the time. Not to mention pathetic and a stupid sore loser. When I rarely try to form new friendships, I like them to see me for strong and admirable. But I'm not those things at all, so who am I kidding?

I clutched my tender pinkened cheek in self pity and let out a long sigh. Craig watched me with the last of his cigarette burning out. I don't know how he managed to make them last so long for him. But he had that same mundane look on his face. It was his eyes that spoke to me but I couldn't make them out. Was he somewhat sympathetic for me? Or disgusted?

"How gray" he whispered.

 **…**

That was a week ago and surprisingly Craig actually hadn't left yet. I guessed that my mom's cooking was keeping him in his place but whatever it was, he decided to crash in the tree house some more and I'd gone through the woods too see him every day. I'd stay with him for the morning during the weekends and then on week days I'd approach him after school or after work. He didn't seem to mind too much.

My thoughts were wandering to the little cosy clearing, the sun spilling over the ground as I sat in these confining walls of possibly the second worst place after high school which was outside my therapist's office, waiting anxiously.

As I waited I'd shredded down on my nails and been watching the clock, counting every tick and tock it made, trying to apply it to a rhythm in my head. I wanted this to be over quickly, so very quickly but I knew it wouldn't. At the moment I had monthly sessions and it was the only negotiation my parents were willing to make with me, knowing how much I hated being subjected to the patronising critiques and questions of my therapist. At least that's how I saw it anyway.

I had to think of it this way: only two hours today and I wouldn't have to face her for another month. Great.

"Tweek?" A soothing voice called my name from an open door and I twitched in slight surprise as I turned to face my therapist. She was called Miss. Manson but she insisted that I call her by her given name, Laura. Apparently that made patients feel more comfortable or so I read, she was simply a print out of a "how to be a therapist" book.

Nevertheless I gingerly followed her into her office and embraced the familiar smell of menthol and aloe vera. Her office was minimalistic; she had white walls decorated with zen paintings alongside vibrant green plants that were loitered here and there. The carpet was a faded blue and the couches were forest green. A trick at making your office approachable for colour-sensitive people.

Laura could be intrusive at times and if I had the choice I'd stop seeing her but she was probably the best mentor I could receive. She was friendly and took a sincere interest in my life, probably because I was a special/mental case. She always surrounded herself in calm hues and talked quietly as not to frighten me. I could see myself opening up to her one day but in the back of my mind I didn't really want to. Being vulnerable was something I no longer wanted to feel.

I sat down in my usual place and she did hers opposite me, examining my condition peacefully as I intertwined my fingers together rather awkwardly.

"Would you like some tea, Tweek?"

There was a tea set on the coffee table between us with oriental patterns all over the white china, I'd noticed it as I walked in and had wondered a little about it. Laura never has hot beverages with her. But the china was beautiful and I found myself examining the golden flowers against a scarlet background, wanting to reach out and trace them.

"Do you, uh, have any coffee?" I inquired shyly. She knows that I prefer it.

"You shouldn't drink so much" she told me "you know, going over your daily intake of caffeine can cause restlessness and anxiety."

 _Oh, where did you hear that from?_

She didn't even sound patronising, she told me the facts in a way that was soft and concerned but I couldn't help but hear it fall from her mouth more condescending than it was. Most often I feel like people are constantly judging what I do. Hell, even I judge what I do, my thoughts do.

 _She hates you._

I quite quickly gave in and let her pour me some tea. I was excited to hold the intricate teacup at least and as I brought the hot liquid to my lips, being extra aware not to rattle the teacup against its saucer, I was pleasantly surprised. The tea was black and mild, it left a dry taste in my mouth but it felt nice running down my throat. Not something that I'd consider replacing my favoured beverage though.

"Speaking of coffee, are you still considering working at your parents' shop?" She asked me.

"Actually" I swallowed a mouthful of tea "I, uh, work part time at the f-florist."

Laura seemed pleasantly surprised by this and to be honest, I was too when I got the job. Despite how much my parents wanted to keep a constant eye on me, I couldn't work in a coffee shop. It would be casualty after casualty. I'd be the most clumsy barista known to man, complete with broken mugs, spilt coffee and mild burns. Working at the florists seemed like a tranquil and… less demanding little job to have and so far it had stayed true to my assumption. After all, what's more soft and gentle than an arrangement of flowers?

I'd gotten the job by pure luck. Liane Cartman, the owner, was apparently no stranger to dealing with problem children and somehow found my colossal antics endearing. She happily took me on.

"Well I'm glad you found something to do after school. Do you enjoy it?"

"I guess so… I do like sort of, flowers."

I hadn't realised that I'd been tugging violently on a small strand of hair until Laura gazed at me with a sad, almost apologetic kind of gaze.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" She wondered. Always questions.

 _No._

There was a lot I wanted to say but couldn't quite voice aloud. In fact, I'd probably be more eloquent with a pen and paper. I wanted to talk about how lonely I feel, how my parents don't understand me, how I get beaten after school and how utterly useless and dead I feel inside. But part of me didn't want to hear that stuff come from my mouth as well because I'm sure I'd choke and cry.

"N-not really" I managed to mumble. Of course she didn't seem fooled.

"What about the marks on your face?" She gestured with her pencil.

"Oh, y-you know how, um, clumsy I am! Ha!" Somehow I hadn't even managed to convince myself with that dreadful excuse. No amount of fringe and borrowed makeup could hide the mighty evidence of fists and boots to my face. Only barely.

"You can talk to me. Everything is between just us, Tweek."

 _Can you? Is it?_

"Yes" I answered. More to my thoughts than her statement.

Laura leaned forward to retrieve her teacup, sipping on it soundly and observing me with amiable eyes through thick-framed glasses.

"You're so brave" she pointed out suddenly and I looked away. That wasn't true because I'm terrified of everything. "You know you're not alone though. There's people for you to talk to. Especially if someone is hurting you..."

A horrifying thought crossed my mind that she could be suspecting my parents of hitting me considering I'd been so reluctant to tell her how I got the bruises and how my relationship with mom and dad fluctuates between adoration and compulsion. She knew this much. I opened my mouth to protest but decided against it, surely Laura knew family abuse if and when she saw it.

"I recently got married" Laura announced quietly, holding out a perfectly manicured set of fingers where a sparkly ring sat comfortably on her left. "It was the happiest day of my life, so far."

I nod and flashed her an awkward smile. Sure, I was happy for her but I didn't know how it was relevant to our session.

"Has anything happened to you recently to make you feel happy?"

Oh.

I scratched the back of my neck and replied with a "hmm" before I'd formed a sentence. "Happy might be a stretch to far."

"Alright. Has anything happened that made you feel comfortable or… _Better_?"

"Well" I thought for a moment "I uh, made a new friend I think."

Laura sat back and smiled a little as she wrote something down in her notepad, seemingly pleased with the news, or so I hoped.

"What are they like?"

"His name is Craig… He uh…" it was then that I realised I knew virtually nothing about Craig, not so much as a last name. To be fair, I'd known him just over a week but when I was with him for some reason it slipped my mind to ask him what he likes doing, what music he likes, where he came from and so on. I wasn't about to tell my therapist that I met a boy in the woods who I only know by a questionable first name and whose favourite meal is a packet of Marlboro. My acumen and safety would surely be challenged there.

"He's cool" I finally mustered. I could tell Laura wanted to know more about Craig by the intrigue painted across her face but she simply nod her head in approval and smiled at me, that sunshine glossy smile.

"I'm glad" She chirped.

 **...**

For some unknown reason, rain invaded our hushed little town and not at all gracefully. If it was bad enough that I couldn't sleep on peaceful nights; the brutality of nature sure wasn't making it any easier. Though being in South Park, none of us were surprised despite it was summer. Rain seemed to pour down at the most melancholy of days.

It's a sign, an omen. A message perhaps? No...

I lay wide awake at a little past midnight when the thunder and lightning struck, roaring at me outside my window and occasionally catching my eye with a flash of bright white forks. Usually I didn't like abrupt loud noises, but thunder for whatever reason didn't startle me or make me uncomfortable. I rather enjoyed laying back and listening to the sky outside, so vivid and alive, full of anger, full of emotion. Even the sky expressed its inner turmoil better than me.

I was expecting another flash to brighten up my room for a split second but instead I heard the stomach-churning noise of my window being pried open and huddled under my blankets in fear, not knowing what else to do. Surely it was my imagination… Right?

Nothing bad ever happens in South Park. Actually, that's a lie. _Everything_ bad happens in South Park which is why no one comes here. Anyone should feel sorry for us residents stuck in this insane little redneck valley that may as well be the catalyst of Lord of the Flies.

 _Robber? Murderer? Pedophile? Rapist? Terrorist? Men in Black?!_

That was it, wasn't it? The men in black know I've been thinking about them and now they're here to take me away to some underground alien lab.

"GAH!" I screamed into my pillow, dreading for whatever was to follow in the next few moments.

 _I could die right now._

I considered snatching the baseball bat from beneath my bed but whatever had infiltrated my window was already looming over me. I felt like I was about to wet the bed for the first time in ten years. Okay, that's also a lie, three years.

"Tweek?"

I recognised that voice. Low and raspy and this time it was in a whisper.

Cautiously like a doe, I peeled the covers away from my face and peered up at the figure towering over me, his face highlighted by the subtle light of distant lightning and a moon tucked somewhere between the dark clouds.

"... Craig?" I instantly bolted up against my headboard, shocked to see Craig anywhere but in the forest. I switched my nightlight on to get a better look of him and it was truly a solemn sight to behold.

The lean, lanky boy stood before me, drenched and shivering, his raven hair clinging to his face in strings and his eyes were deeply sunken in, bloodshot too. He looked absolutely mortified and scarlet-faced, his arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to warm up.

"W-what happened to you!" I gasped, jumping to my feet and rushing to the window to close it so not to let anymore precious heat escape. He gazed at me with motionless, dead orbs and his breathing came out in ragged chokes. My best guess was that even the grand old treehouse wasn't enough to keep one dry.

"Can I sleep here?" He muttered and the chatter in his teeth was quite prominent. If my parents were to walk in and see him, they surely would not be happy but right now that wasn't the priority. How could I say no to him?

"Of course" I whispered. We stood in an awkward silence for what felt like decades before I decided to fetch Craig a dry shirt of mine. Another big one of course.

He changed out of his almost transparent oversized shirt, the 'I want to Believe' garment and I watched him intently as he took a long sigh of relief inside the dry fabric. "Thank you" he sighed and then to my surprise, he suddenly dropped to the floor and curled up on the carpet and it took me a moment to realise that he was getting ready to sleep. Sure, my carpet was long and fluffy but it wouldn't be my first option of a bed. Then again, what option did Craig have? My carpet probably came first against a rotting wooden hut.

Wringing my hands together with nothing else to say, I tip-toed back into bed, snuggling beneath the many blankets and peeking through at Craig curled up in a ball on the floor, facing away from the window and making a great effort to squeeze his eyes shut. Maybe I was wrong but he looked… _Frightened_ all rolled up like sushi and shivering like a leaf in the wind.

I bit my lip and stretched out behind me on my rather large single bed or rather small double bed, depending on how you look at it. Plenty of space…

"Hey Craig…" I called out softly. He replied with a tired "mm" sound and I swallowed the lump that was forming inside my throat.

"Uh… you can sleep here w-with me. There's space…" my voice trailed off nervously into the distance somewhere when I noticed him perk up and weakly lift himself off the ground. It were almost as if he was waiting for me to ask since he seemed as ready as anything to crawl into bed with me.

That he did, he slithered into the other side of my bed, pulling a fair amount of blanket over himself and leaving a modest amount of distance between us. The bed felt a little warmer and I had to admit it felt quite nice having someone filling the empty space of the mattress, especially on stormy nights such as these.

We stared at each other for a little while. The nightlight cast a peachy glow on his face and I had the inkling desire to reach out and scrape his mop-like hair out of his eyes. Perhaps he wouldn't mind.

The gentle moment was quickly interrupted when a clap of thunder contorted Craig's face into the pure look of fear and he flinched violently, so unexpected that I jumped with him.

So, I couldn't help but wonder.

"Are you...Scared of thunder?" I asked bravely. I heard him clear his throat.

"No" he was lying.

"It's okay if you are… I… I'm scared of a lot of things, really."

"I might be."

I was sort of baffled that I'd be the first person he came to if he was scared, which he had. God forbid what would've happened if he hadn't met me. He'd be all alone in those dark woods, high in the trees where the wind and thunder is loud and ferocious. Even I'd be scared of the storm if I was in that situation.

"G-good job you remembered where I lived then" I nervously chuckled.

"That's not entirely true. I climbed up to another window before I found my way here" the raven admit. I didn't know whether to laugh or gasp. How on earth did he manage to climb up here anyway? Let alone with a backpack on and nature hailing down on him. What an amazing specimen. I was beginning to feel honoured that his first place to reside to safety was my bedroom of all places.

Just as I noticed his eyelids begin to flutter with exhaustion, I beckoned myself to ask him a question, much to his dismay.

"What's your favourite band?" I asked him. He frowned with his eyes still squeezed together and made a sound of annoyance before he answered.

"Radiohead. Now will you let me sleep?"

"Radiohead?" I echoed. He made another groaning sound. I had a suspicion that he thought of the first band off the top of his head to shut me up but if he was telling the truth then I can't say I was disappointed with his taste in music. He certainly looked like the rock and roll kind of guy, black hair and piercings and all.

"What about you?" he croaked. To my astonishment, Craig had actually taken an interest in _me._ I'm fairly sure this is the only time he's asked about my interests and I can't deny the speck of warmth that spread across my chest at that revelation.

"Uh… I-I'm more of a… Ice Cube person" I told him shyly and involuntarily twitched against his side.

Even with his eyes closed, drifting into a deep and well-deserved sleep, I watched Craig's lips turn into the widest of grins, a mile across his face as if he'd forgotten about his astraphobia and had just been told something hilariously exciting.

"That's amazing" he smirked, causing me the faintest of blushes as he finally passed out, damp and nested beside me.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Thank you for your patience and ever so much for the feedback.**


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